


nfwmb

by unbreakable_groundriot



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Death, Established Relationship, He/Him Pronouns for Dagon (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Read Author Notes, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Title from a Hozier Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-09-23 00:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20330674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbreakable_groundriot/pseuds/unbreakable_groundriot
Summary: "I didn't want to do it."Crowley stinks of fire and brimstone. He's soaked to the bone and yet soot still clings to his pale, pale cheeks.In which Crowley is forced to make some hard choices to protect the things he loves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheShow_MustGo_On](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShow_MustGo_On/gifts).
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like all Good Omens fans, I believe Hozier was spawned from an incantation said over the Good Omens script book. [NFWMB by Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pi6pLTrx94Q).
> 
> Remember to read the chapter notes before each chapter. I don't like to put things in tags because it often gives away the whole plot.

"I didn't want to do it."

Crowley stinks of fire and brimstone. He's soaked to the bone and yet soot still clings to his pale, pale cheeks. "I didn't want to, angel." His sunglasses are shattered and his clothing drip drip drips ice-cold rainwater onto the hardwood floor. His nails rip and tear until they're bloody as he claws them along the wood. "I didn't. I didn't."

Aziraphale takes far too long to comprehend the sight before him. Crowley lurches toward him. He claws at the bottom of Aziraphael's soft shirt and smears black blood and soot everywhere he touches.  
"Please! I didn't want to!"  
"Darling, I don't know what's going on, but let me help you."  
"I didn't want to. I didn't want to."

* * *

"I'll be a gone a day, two at the most." Crowley tries to dislodge Aziraphale's hands from where they button and unbutton his finely tailored black suit jacket.  
"I could go with you. We could make a trip of it." The angel actually pouts up at him. It's a very tempting offer and they haven't gone on holiday in years, but he forces himself to resist the temptation.  
"It's a solo trip, angel. You wouldn't like it anyway." He leans in and presses a dozen little kisses to pouting lips. "Let go. I'll be back before you know it."

Aziraphale finally unbuttons his suit jacket and drops his hands. "Just be careful and call me! And text me!" He demands.  
"Yes, yes. I'm only going to be a half-hour away. I'm not going to the Moon."  
"You may as well be!"

They haven't spent much time truly apart since their incompetence helped the world not come to a very fiery end. They spend time alone around town or in their home, but leaving each other for more than a few hours is still an anxiety-inducing concept. Too much could happen. They had finally moved away from London where they'd both holed up for so many years. They'd moved into a modest cottage in a modest town next to the chalk cliffs. They were happy to be the eccentric couple at the end of the lane. They were happy.

He catches Aziraphale's jaw in his hand and pulls him in for a chaste kiss. There's so much tenderness behind the aggressive placement of his hand. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, angel." He purrs in a valiant attempt to sound suave.  
His angel doesn't fall for it. "What do we say?" He huffs as if scolding a child. It's a comical sight with his cheeks smushed by Crowley's long fingers.  
Crowley rolls his eyes from behind his dark glasses. "I love you. I promise I'll call."  
Aziraphale leans in and kisses him again. "I love you too, sweet boy. Go on or I swear I'm coming with you."

There is a series of kisses and little endearments all the way to him closing the door of the Bentley. Aziraphale watches him drive off before slipping through the gate of their garden and heading into the house.

* * *

"It's an easy job, Crowley." Freddie Mercury's dulcet tones turn darker and huskier.   
"I like that song. You could have waited." He complains. His knuckles go white as he grips the steering wheel hard. He feels his human pulse speed up and his breathing picks up just slightly. In all of the years that have passed since he'd introduced Hell to the concept of electronic communication, he has never and would never get used to this.

"Don't be a little shit." The voice growls now. "I know what you did, Crowley. I know your little secret. You will do this and all will be well."  
He grits his teeth. "Course. Easy job. Why do I have to do it if it's so easy?"

"You're brilliant, darling... And desperate. I could ask anything of you and you would jump, wouldn't you? Fortunately, I'm a demon of my word. Now, what do we say?" The voice imitates Aziraphale's sweet admonishment. 

"All Hail Satan." Crowley snarls. He slams his fist into the faceplate of his radio and cracks it in two.


	2. Chapter 2

“Anthony! You’re looking well today!”

He enters the florist’s shop slouched over and out of place in his all-black everything. At some point, he had traded out his snakehead belt buckle of angel wings and his angel now wore a snake on his pinkie. It was the little things.

“Clean living, Mrs. Dorris.” He replies easily.

Moving had been an easy choice for the pair when it had come up in a pillow talk conversation. London had never truly been his home and the bookshop held too many painful memories for them both. They were immortal beings and had no reason to be held down. They were in love and had no reason not to stay together.

“Oh, you always say that, dear.” She’s an older human female. He catches a whiff of death on her breath that hadn't been there last week. He hopes her son will take up the family business sooner rather than later. Demons can't perform true blessings and so he silently curses her to pass peacefully. “Are you looking for anything special? I received a shipment of lovely monkshood this morning. They still have a little green on the blooms.” She shuffles over to her flower cooler and produces the flowers. The woman really knows Crowley’s taste in flowers after all these years.

He strokes one of the petals fondly. “Do you think you could whip something up with... Chamomile and something green as filler?”

Mrs. Dorris smiles conspiratorially as she moves to her work area. “In the dog house?” She teases.

Crowley whispers a threat to an orchid and it perks up right away. Dear Mrs. Dorris' hearing is going. She doesn't suspect a thing. “I’m going on a trip and he’s going to be cross with me. Those are pre-storm flowers.”

Mrs. Dorris starts to arrange a lovely bouquet as she listens. She really is a kind woman. He’s going to hate to see her go. "I’m sure that darling man won’t be too upset. He’s an angel!”  
Crowley chuckles deep in his chest. A few plants shiver. “He can be a demon, Mrs. Dorris. What do I owe you?” He steps up to the counter and a little extra cash finds its way into the register.

* * *

"Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me!"

Aziraphale flinches back as the suddenness of Crowley's snarled demand. "Alright. I won't touch you. Can I sit with you?"

Below them the sea laps roughly against the cliff face. There is a storm far, far in the distance. For a moment he's reminded of the infinite desert of Eden and the first storm.

The angel very slowly sits next to Crowley. Their legs dangle over the edge. He is very careful not to let any part of himself touch Crowley's person.

They sit in absolute silence. Crowley was...Not himself. It had been days since he'd dragged himself into their home sobbing and begging incoherently. Aziraphale knew what had happened, though he didn't know the details from Crowley himself.

The news reported that a nursery school a town away had been burned to the ground. Nearly two dozen young children were found among the smoldering ruins along with their teachers. The suspect was, and he did hate the phrase, being called "a man in the country under illegal circumstances." He had felt the wave of sudden, misplaced hatred roll across the country as the very first report appeared somewhere on the internet. It was the perfect evil act and it had caused a perfect wave of low-grade evil to spread far and wide.

"You look cold. Why don't you come inside? I'll get your blanket." He offers as though comforting a dying man. "You can take a nice hot shower and a long nap."

Crowley's broken nails claw at the soft fall grass under them. "No."

It had been quite the fright for him to suddenly hear their front door slam. Crowley's energy had hurriedly headed for the cliffs not more than ten minutes' walk from their home. He trusted his beloved to not do anything too stupid, but Crowley was not himself.

"You can't sit out here, Crowley. You're scaring me. Please come inside. Just inside." He tries to touch the demon again and this time is met with true force.

The back of Crowley's hand meets Aziraphale's cheek. It leaves a bright red mark and the taste of blood in his mouth. There is no apology.

"I said don't fucking touch me!"

* * *

"Just a bite." Aziraphale hovers the fork near Crowley's tightly closed mouth. It's the smallest sliver of lovely honey and lavender chiffon cake with delightfully delicate lemon cream. "You'll love it!"

Crowley shakes his head and covers his mouth with his hand. He looks not unlike a child refusing his broccoli.  
"For me? You're so thin. Your body could use the calories, my love." He worries about Crowley's ribs and spine and thin thighs. Their bodies really don't need food, but there was pleasure in eating and his body always felt more energized after eating.

Crowley keeps his mouth covered but finally speaks. "Genesis 3:14."  
"Come again?"  
"Genesis 3:14!"  
"Which version?"  
"King James."

Aziraphale slides the morsel into his own mouth as his mind filters through all of the versions of the Bible he's ever read.

"Oh... That... That verse is true?" His eyes go wide at the realization. He can count the number of times he's seen Crowley eat on two hands plus a toe. He has only ever seen him drink and... "Oh, oh my love. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. I thought that was something the humans added in for dramatic effect."  
Crowley slowly lowers his hand. He averts his eyes despite wearing his dark glasses. By now Aziraphale can read even the most minute expression on the demon's face. "It wasn't God that did it...Not the way they describe. It happened when I Fell. I always complained about the food up there." He jerks his head toward the sky.

Aziraphale reaches out to squeeze the other male-shaped being's hand. "Perhaps we can find a loophole or two, hm? You drink tea and coffee and alcohol. Perhaps that doesn't count as food."  
"I'm used to it, angel."  
"You deserve simple pleasures as much as anyone else."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, monkshood usually represents caution while chamomile represents relaxation...Plus they look pretty together.
> 
> Genesis 3:14 And the LORD God said unto the serpent, Because thou hast done this, thou art cursed above all cattle, and above every beast of the field; upon thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy life


	3. Chapter 3

"It is done, Lord Beelzebub."

The Lord of the Flies looks up from their paperwork. Dagon seems...uncomfortable.

"I felt it, yezzz." They pause. "What troublezzz you?" They would admit to Dagon being their closest friend if a water gun of holy water was held to their head.  
"We usually don't need to tempt humans into such acts. They do it themselves." He twists the stained file in his hands. Even Hell had rules. Children were almost universally off-limits.

Beelzebub taps their pen against their desk. "That izzz true." They are silent for a beat. "It wazzz not a temptation."  
"Then what was it?"  
"A possession."

* * *

The bruise is miracled away, but the inner sting remains.

He leaves.

He lights the fireplace and arranges Crowley's favorite heated blanket in his favorite chair next to the fireplace. On a kitschy coaster painted with a cartoon cat, he places a perpetually hot mug of coffee. Then he goes into his study and closes the door.

Hours later the front door opens. He hears the heavy slam of boots against the wall. There is a scuff on the pale blue wall where Crowley insists on throwing his boots before he leans down to carefully arrange them. He hears the shuffling of the heated blanket and then, ever so quiet, the sound of barely restrained sobs.

His heart breaks for his beloved demon. Every news report sends another wave of evil across the country. It leaves him feeling itchy as though his skin was dry. He can't imagine what Crowley is feeling. The demon had always, always refused to harm children. He had done many truly evil deeds, but children were off-limits to the humanoid who had snuck a group of children on Noah's Ark.

He leaves his study and slowly walks to Crowley's chair. He kneels next to him and carefully rests his hand on the shock of red hair that sticks out from beneath the blanket. No hand lashes out this time.

"Don't touch me." Crowley croaks.  
"Let me comfort you, my love. Let me help you." He strokes the tangles caused by the salty breeze. "I love you so much."

A great, heaving sob emanates from beneath the blanket. "I didn't want to do it."

* * *

"You don't seem like the Starbucks type." Crowley sits and slowly slouches to spread out and take up as much space as possible. On the outside, he seems cool and collected. On the inside, he's quaking.

The man before him is a delicate beauty. He is androgynous and yet clearly masculine. His hair is long, long white-blonde and his red eyes flash with flecks of gold. He wears thick black eyeliner and perfectly applied black lipstick. Crowley thinks he looks like a posh prick playing at punk.

"I must admit that I find the place charming. So much Greed and Gluttony." He breathes deep, eyes closing briefly. His voice carries the accent of a German who learned English through an exchange program. Crowley can't remember if he's always sounded that way. "And I do enjoy a pumpkin spice latte."

Crowley's mouth twitches. "Why did you call me here? I didn't even know you could...Take a human form."

Satan smiles. The inside of his mouth is black. He sits ramrod straight with his hands in his lap. If he still had his blinding halo Crowley might have mistaken him for the angel he had once been. "I am not stupid, darling." He leans in closer. "I have been watching you. I have for a very long time. I saw what you did."

His blood runs cold...er. "Piss off."  
"Ah ah ah. No no. We don't get to play that game. I am still your master." He gives a bare twitch of his nose.

Crowley bites back a cry of pain as his body is forced to sit upright. The position hurts his unnatural spine. He fists his hands until they're white knuckled.

"Now, I do not like to be played for a fool." He takes a sip of the drink sitting in front of him. "I looked back and saw the little stunt you pulled with that fat fuck of an angel you let fuck you." His nose twitches again and Crowley's body contorts to lean in closer. He bares his teeth and does not speak. He cannot speak. "That little time control trick of yours is very impressive I must say. You always were special and yet...A nobody. Sent up to Earth and left to glue coins to the ground."

Crowley slouches as he suddenly finds himself in control of his body again. He feels sick. This can't be happening.

"What do you want?"

Satan rests his chin on his hand. He leans in and smiles. "A final mission, dear Crowley. A single mission and I will leave you be. I will command Hell to forget you ever existed and I will speak to my...associates in Heaven and see that the pansy angel is forgotten as well."  
"And if I refuse?"  
Satan smiles and smiles and smiles. He has so many teeth and so much mouth. "He will Fall. I will drag him down myself."


	4. Chapter 4

There had been a phase, somewhere around what would probably be his teenage years, where Crawly had taken great pleasure in causing real, permanent, handcrafted harm to humans. He would choose a single human or a family or even a whole village and concoct the perfect way to cause them to lose their souls to his dark master. He had been angry in those days. The reality that he was alone on the Earth had truly hit him full force. The reality that his mother had abandoned him was always in the back of his mind. The reality that he was still a slave was right at the forefront.

He tempted a farmer into killing his rival to steal their land.  
He made a stonemason lose focus and caused massive stones to come crashing down on the innocent.  
A whole village was convinced that murdering the most beautiful boy in the village would cure them of their demonic plague.  
He married for a few years to a wealthy landowner. Many humans starved because the man's pretty, red-headed wife wanted more and more for herself.

He hurt people. He watched all grinning fangs and wide-eyed as humans ripped each other apart after just a little nudge in the wrong direction... And then God decided to wipe them out.

The pretty angel who occasionally thwarted him said everyone would die. She didn't care that the local children were sweet and innocent. She didn't care that they so shyly asked to touch his pale skin and bright hair. She didn't care that the fire inside him grew and grew until the first drops of rain touched his skin and it fizzled out.

Humans were stupid, barbaric creatures, but they all deserved a second chance.

In his memo to head office, he'd called it thwarting God's plan to get rid of all of the humans. He could convince the little humans that God was evil. Couldn't do that with no little humans, you see. So, he gathered up as many children as he could and put them into a deep sleep. He hid them away deep, deep in the Ark among the hay collected to feed all of Her creatures.

"I can see you, Aziraphale."

Slowly glowing, white curls appear from behind a beam. The angel looks rather sheepish. "You could not. I was hidden." He carries a basket in his hands.

Crawly pushes more hay over one of the sleeping girls as if Aziraphale doesn't know what was going on. If he could just save one of them... They hadn't hurt anyone! They had braided his hair and inspected his freckles and giggled at his stories. They were still good. They didn't deserve to die because their parents weren't perfect.

"Your halo. You're literally glowing." He rolls his eyes.  
"Well, it's very dark down here." He waves his hand around his head. "And if I'm given a halo I should use it on occasion." He steps closer to Crawly's hiding place. He does not flinch as the demon bares his fangs. "I'm not here to stop you. I brought this." He sets the basket down and then settles among the hay onto his knees. "When they wake they'll be hungry. There are only a few days left."

Crawly hesitates. They have had their run-ins before and some had turned violent. He'd nearly been discorporated once when the angel had run him through with a spear. He was soft and sweet looking, but he was powerful. They were both young, in the grand scheme of things, and hot head headed. Things were calmer now between them.

Aziraphale smiles genuine and kind. He reaches into the basket and produces two pomegranates. "It's just fruit and bread." He holds out one of the shiny, waxy fruits.  
Crawly watches his every move. He briefly glances at the hidden children before scoots closer. He takes the pomegranate and starts to carefully press against the skin to crush the arils within. "Why're you doing this?"  
Aziraphale follows his motions. Crawly thinks he's brave for eating pomegranate in a white robe. "I'm not stupid. I felt your energy and theirs as soon as you came on board." He bites into the fruit and hums low with pleasure as he sucks up the juice. Thousands of years from this moment Crawly will remember as the moment he'd first made an accidental Effort. It really had been his teenage years. "I'm not going to throw you overboard for helping children... And I'm not going to punish children who have been kidnapped by a demon." He raises a finely groomed brow.

"I...You...Nnk... What?"

Aziraphale takes another drink of his fruit before continuing. His lips are already stained red from the juice. "I can only hope that the demon will free them from its evil grasp." He sighs dramatically.  
Crawly looks down at his pomegranate and smiles. "Yeah. No promises on that, angel."  
"Eat your fruit, foul fiend."

* * *

"Crowley! You can't do this!"  
"Shut up! _You_ can't do this!"

He uselessly bares his teeth as the angel yanks the pot of blood from his hands. It shatters against the dirt and blood spatters the ends of their shendyt.

"It is Her will, Crowley. I can't let you do this." Aziraphale looks sad, as he always does when these things happen, but he also looks resolute. Crowley knows he won't change his mind.  
"It's wrong is what it is. All of them? Little baby boys? Huh? All because one bastard fucked up?" He wipes at his eyes which only smears the blood and kohl and tears around.  
Aziraphale steps over the broken clay pot and he finds himself being held in his arms. "I'm sorry, Crowley. I know you got the same memo. We're to observe and nothing more." He holds on even as Crowley halfheartedly pushes at his bare chest. "I had hoped it wouldn't end up like this, but it is Her plan."

Crowley gives up. Aziraphale smells like henna and cinnamon. He's pleasantly warm compared to the cool, night air of the desert. "It's not right. You know it's not right." The angel shushes him. He can't remember the last time anyone has just held him.

"Let's get inside before it comes. You can sleep through it."

* * *

"They're too young at this age to remember anything."  
"I just worry..."  
"Shut up. Keep bouncing."

It was meant to be Nanny Ashtoreth's day off, but Mr. and Mrs. Dowling had been called away for... Well, Crowley had been too angry to really remember. They'd stunk of a lie. They'd be back in a few days. Extra pay. Blah blah.

Aziraphale obediently bounces baby Warlock on his knee. He's still a chubby, wide-eyed little human that hasn't learned how to write rude words on public property yet. Nanny Ashtoreth, currently Crowley, sprawls on the bookshop sofa watching him like a hawk.

"It's shit, you know."  
"Oh my, I don't smell anything."

He rolls his eyes. "You'd know if he shat himself, angel. I mean the Dowlings. It's my day off and what do they do? Leave me with the little demon anyway. Can't be fucked to take their own spawn with them."  
"Not really their spawn..."  
"Ah ah ah. You know what I mean." He sits up properly, or as properly as is possible for someone with a few extra vertebrae. Warlock reaches for him and giggles. He's scooped up and deposited onto Crowley's lap.

"Well, at least we'll both have some time off from acting, right?" Aziraphale looks relieved to no longer have a human life literally in his hands.  
"I wanted to take a nap for a few days. I'm stuck with this thing." He lifts Warlock into the air and holds him upside down. He squeals excitedly and Crowley does his very best to keep his face impassive.

Aziraphale smiles in the way that makes Crowley's pulse pick up. It hasn't been easy working so closely with him for the first time in centuries. "I don't think you mind as much as you're letting on."

He very well can't lie when he has a two year old cuddling into his neck. Warlock has finally tired out it seems. "It's the whole idea. You shouldn't have a kid if you're just going to ignore it. Harriet doesn't even do anything all day. How hard is it to read to your kid at bedtime, huh? Have dinner together?"  
"You said he won't even remember."  
"Don't tell me things I already know." He sits back again with the child held against his chest. "S'not right is all...He's meant to destroy the world. Least they can do is treat him like...Well like normal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize they don't start trying to influence Warlock until he's 5 but I make the rules.


	5. Chapter 5

Possessing a human took energy and thought. Crowley had done it once and then slept for five straight years.

Finding the target was easy enough. He was a young human of around twenty. He had a pretty girlfriend who was pregnant with their first child. They'd been in the country for two years and he worked under the table for a local supermarket and she was a waitress just down the road from the little studio flat they shared. They were happy and excited for their baby to be. They'd even come up with a name.

He tempted the human closer and closer into an alley and one... two... three... He was in. The human screamed somewhere in the back of his mind, but he blocked it out.

This was for Aziraphale.

Everything he had ever done was for Aziraphale.

Getting into the nursery school was just as easy. He had just walked right in. CCTV footage would show the young man strolling in confident and angry. Inside Crowley heard him screaming and begging to be set free. Inside Crowley held back his own screams.

Hellfire burned hotter than anything on the planet. It could only be extinguished by Holy Water and there was none around. He stepped out of the young man's body and left it on the floor outside of the room he'd started the first fire. CCTV footage would glitch at that moment. He walked through the flames as the sounds of screaming children and women filled rose above the flames.

He didn't remember how he got home.

* * *

Aziraphale's lip wobbled as he watched the news report. This was the second attack in three days. Humans were so good at hurting each other and they were so good at hurting the innocent.

A man was beaten nearly to death in the streets for being not unlike the arsonist. A local shop was vandalized and set alight. The family barely escaped the fire with their lives.

Every day a fresh wave of evil rolled over them like a heatwave.

He told himself to buck up. Crowley needed him. The demon hadn't left their bed in days. He wasn't asleep. He hadn't slept at all which was a shock. He fully expected his beloved to sleep the decade away.

He steps into the bedroom where Crowley is curled under the duvet. "Are we ready to get up today, darling?" He asks as though he was speaking to a small animal. He miracles a bowl of warm water and a washcloth. Crowley makes no move to stop him as he peels the duvet back.

His eyes are red from crying. His nose is raw and he looks so far away. He hasn't spoken in days. He doesn't reply now.

Aziraphale wets the cloth and uses it to gently wash Crowley's face. He could miracle him clean, but he believes Crowley needs intimacy as much as he needs it.

"There we are. Don't you feel better?" He stroked his fingers through his greasy hair and does miracle away the oil. Crowley doesn't respond. His eyes do track Aziraphale's movements. That's an improvement.

That done, he sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. "Oh Crowley...My darling boy... You need to snap out of this so we can talk it through. You have to let me help you. I would do anything to help you."

Crowley rolls over. "Lay with me?" He asks in a voice rough from disuses. He looks so pale and scared and tired. "P-Please?" Tears spring to his eyes. "If I don't disgust you."  
Aziraphale lays with him without a moment's thought. He offers his arms and his demon presses against his chest. "I love you. I love you I love you. You will never disgust me."


	6. Chapter 6

"What a lovely little place you have here, darling."

Crowley jolts up. Standing in the bedroom he shared with his beloved angel is Satan himself. He picks up a framed photograph between his thumb and pinky. He cocks his head curiously at the object. "With so many trinkets. You've been living well."

He looks to Crowley and smiles angelically. His black mouth gives away what he truly is. "Though not recently. Why so glum? You've done worse. You've started so many wars. You have so much blood on your hands." He scrunches his nose playfully. Crowley feels sick.

He sets the frame down and moves on to pick up one of Aziraphale's books. He holds it upside down and frowns as it flutters open. "Such odd things, these material objects. I understand that this is a book, but I do not understand why humans covet them. The coffee and food I understand, yes? It gives pleasure." He drops the book unceremoniously. The pages crinkle and fold as it falls to the ground open. Aziraphale will be so upset.

Satan is not particularly tall. He is somewhat average in height and slight of build. His beauty is bordering on uncanny valley territory. He is too perfect. "But humans are vermin meant to be destroyed anyway. I suppose we must let them have their pleasures before their destruction. It's only fair, is it not? She gave us happiness before ruining it."

He settles himself on the edge of the bed. His black nailed fingers stroke the sheets curiously. They're soft cotton and a rather plain beige. Crowley finds he can't move, but it is not Satan's doing. His entire being is filled with terror.

"Why are you here?" He croaks. His entire body tenses with fear. Where is Aziraphale? He had said he was coming back with tea. He could still sense him in the cottage.

Satan picks at the cotton before seemingly growing bored. "Simply checking in, darling. Such a shame, really. You did a wonderful job. The little humans' screams were delicious. They went to Heaven, of course. That agreement still stands." He twirls his hair now. "You can feel it though, can't you? Humans are so simple. A little crime by a single human and they blame all the humans who are similar!" He laughs and t reverberates around the room like a bell. "You are a master of building evil. Oh, the others can tempt, but you let the humans do the work themselves." He leans into Crowley's space. He smells like a bonfire. It's not unpleasant which makes it all the more unnerving.

He boops Crowley's nice and smiles. "I'm simply so proud of you. You were quite plain in Heaven, but look how much you've accomplished for me. I'm just so proud of you. What do we say?" His smile widens. It grotesquely takes up his face.

Crowley feels the vomit right at the back of his throat. "All Hail Satan."

The demonic dark lord winks and he's gone.

Aziraphale enters their bedroom with a tray of tea and biscuits. He smiles gently at Crowley. "You're up! I'm so happy to see you're up." He sets the tray on their bedside table. He picks up the book with a frown. It's some modern paperback he'd picked up recently to pass the time. He sets it back in its place without question. "Darling? Are you alright?"

He steps forward and places his cool hands onto Crowley's hot cheeks. "Poor thing. I made tea just the way you like it. It will make you feel better." He presses a kiss to his forehead.

Crowley swallows down the rock in his throat. "Thank you... Thank you, angel. I don't deserve you."  
Those pretty blue eyes soften. He hands Crowley his mug. It's a silly thing that is shaped like an apple. "There is nothing to deserve, Crowley. I give my love to you freely." He pushes his bangs out of his face. "Now what do we say?"  
Tears prick his eyes. "I love you."


	7. Chapter 7

"Please?"

Aziraphale grins impishly. He taps Crowley's nose instead of giving him the kiss he whines for. "No no. What do we say?"  
Crowley groans. "I don't know what you want, angel." He actually pouts his bottom lip out childishly.

"Repeat after me," he coos, "I love you."   
The demon rolls his eyes. His pout turns into a sneer that holds a heavy amount of adoration. "If I say it you'll kiss me?"  
"I promise. Now, what do we say?"  
"I love you."

* * *

"Can you take down the mirror?" Crowley whispers. He presses his back against the wall. Their bed is pushed against the corner wall. Crowley tended to sprawl out and sometimes off of the bed. They'd discovered he could be contained by Aziraphale's warm body and the hard wall.

Aziraphale frowns a bit but nods. "Of course, darling. What's wrong?"

The smiling face of Satan stares back at them. The angel didn't seem to notice. Those gold and red eyes watch Aziraphale's every move as he took the gold-framed mirror down. He turns it around to face the wall. "There we are."

Crowley stares at the back fo the thing. He couldn't comprehend if it had been an illusion of the mind or an illusion of the dark lord. "I just...Don't want to see myself right now." He reaches out for Aziraphale imploringly. "Please?"

The angel settles onto the bed with him with no hesitation. He pulls Crowley into his arms and strokes over his arm absently. "It's going to be okay, my love." He presses a kiss to messy, dirty red hair. "You'll talk to me when you're ready, won't you? Because you know I will love you no matter your answer."

Crowley curls into the warm body of his angel. "You won't. You won't love me, angel. I've done something awful." He swears low and sharp under his breath as tears prick at his eyes for the umpteenth time. He didn't want to let the bastard win, but his former master knew exactly how to press his buttons.

No. Not former. He would be a slave forever. It was worth it for Aziraphale. He would burn down the world just to give him enough light to read. He would do anything for him.

"Shhh... There is nothing you could do to make me stop loving you. Nothing, Crowley. We're together until the end."


	8. Chapter 8

The waves of hatred ebb and flow like the tide. Every media broadcast brings a crashing wave of foulness that has Crowley shaking and gripping the nearest solid surface.

The young man whose life he had ruined claimed innocence. He didn't remember how he'd gotten from his job to the nursery. No one believed him and if they did they did not speak up. His pretty girlfriend cried on television. She didn't know why he'd done it. He had been a good man. He was going to be a good father.

They shipped her back to her country with nothing but the clothes on her back. The self-righteous stench in that wave of evil made him physically ill.

The television clicks off abruptly.

"You can't dwell on this, my love."

He looks to his left to find Aziraphale with the remote in his hand. The angel looks horribly sad. Crowley can't remember the last time either of them had smiled.

"I did it. This is my punishment." He replies in a barely-there whisper. He raises his hand to snap the television back to life, but a firm hand grabs his. "Aziraphale. Let go."

They stare at each other in silence before Crowley gives up. Tears well up in his eyes for what may be the millionth time in the last few weeks. Life had been going so well. He had his angel and they had their life in their cottage. Maybe he wasn't meant to be happy.

Aziraphale sits at his side and pulls him in close.

"He made me do it. I possessed that human and... I did it." He offers the information freely. "He said he would make you Fall if I didn't do it." He heaves in an attempt to get enough air into his body's lungs. His hands claw at Aziraphale's jumper in an attempt to draw him closer.

"He?" He hears the quiver in his voice.  
"Satan."

Aziraphale runs his fingers through his hair and rocks him slightly. "Oh Crowley..." He's crying. Crowley can't meet his eyes. "I would have done anything to save you from this pain. I'm not afraid of Falling anymore." He presses a kiss to his forehead. "Only She can decide if I Fall and so far I'm still here."

He turns his yellow eyes up to look at him. Aziraphale's smile is shaky but genuine. He's paler than usual and his eyes are glossy. "But he said..."  
Aziraphale pulls him closer. "Only God can decide who Falls."

Crowley stares wide-eyed at the television. A face smiles back at him and gives a little wave. The morningstar's eyes practically glow with mischief and sick glee. He smiles that wide smile and winks before his reflection disappears.

"What have I done?" The demon sobs. "What have I done?"

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](unbreakable-groundriot.tumblr.com). You totally can't find my Kofi link there either. Every comment is appreciated and I try to reply to them all no matter how small!


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